


once upon a dream

by exarite



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff and Crack, Harry is 16 but they don't even kiss, M/M, Pre-Slash, Sane Voldemort (Harry Potter), Under the Influence of Horcruxes, Underage but not
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-01
Updated: 2019-06-01
Packaged: 2020-04-05 19:13:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19046638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/exarite/pseuds/exarite
Summary: Harry sleepwalks to Voldemort.





	once upon a dream

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this in a fever rush after my exam and on 2 hours of sleep pls forgive me
> 
> thank u to Wolf_of_Lilacs for the beta 💕

Later, Lord Voldemort will wonder how exactly Harry Potter managed to slip through his wards and his guards, asleep and defenseless.

Now though, Voldemort only stares.

The boy, because he can barely be called a man at only 16, stares placidly back at him. Voldemort would think it's a challenge, but Harry's eyes are glazed, his features slack, and for once there's no expression of anger or fear or a combination of either on his face.

Warily, unable to believe the sight in front of him, he steps forward.

Harry Potter immediately lurches toward him, and Voldemort stiffens, his wand flying into his hand, and—

The boy pitches face first into Voldemort's chest.

Voldemort stills.

Voldemort doesn't move, doesn't even breathe, his hands held out at his sides. He's _asleep_ , Voldemort realizes, stunned. The sheer _potential_ , the magnitude of what he could do with the Boy Who Lived, the Light's Golden Boy—

And then Harry wraps his hands around Voldemort's back and rubs his face on the front of Voldemort's robes, nuzzling into it like a cat. He makes a soft snuffling noise and then goes limp until Voldemort is the only thing keeping him up. Pliant and prone, vulnerable and…

Cute.

Well, Voldemort thinks.

He crouches down and picks up the sleeping boy, cradling him in his arms. Harry does nothing but cuddles up even closer, a small, self-satisfied noise escaping him. Voldemort notices immediately that he's even thinner than he looks, lean and light in his arms. He can feel Harry's bones through his clothes, and he frowns. Do they not feed their Savior?

Voldemort carries him then into his bedroom, ignoring the double takes of his Death Eaters as they pass by him and see the Boy Who Lived in his arms. He cares not for their opinions.

*

Harry stirs.

His bed beneath him is impossibly soft, softer than he remembers. He makes a little sound of pleasure and wiggles underneath the sheets, stretching out. The air is cool, and he basks in the way he seems to just sink into the pillows that embrace him. It's so _comfortable_. He could just sleep forever. He sighs, quiet and happy.

"You're finally awake."

Harry freezes.

He doesn't open his eyes. His fingers curl underneath the pillow, and he doesn't even dare to breathe, impossibly still. If he doesn't move, he thinks, maybe the voice won't see him.

No, wait. That's for dinosaurs.

"Potter. I know you're awake."

Harry opens one eye, peeking, and promptly closes it again at the blurry sight of Voldemort, sitting in a chair across from the bed. He fakes a snore.

A stinging spell hits his bum and he yelps. He falls off the bed, taking the sheets with him, and he lands on the carpeted floor. The sheets are tangled around his legs and it takes a moment of struggling before he can free himself.

He scrambles to his feet, eyes wild. A bit of sleep still clings to him and he almost stumbles into the side table before he rights himself. His hands pat down his sides, his pockets, and panic fills him when he can't find—

"Your wand is there."

Harry follows Voldemort's dry, slightly amused gaze, and he squints. He just barely sees his wand and his glasses on the deskside table and he snatches them. He shoves his glasses into his face and points his wand at Voldemort.

Voldemort stares placidly back at him.

"What—Why am I here? How did you—"

"I think I should be the one to ask those questions," Voldemort interrupts, voice high and cool. Harry closes his mouth and stares at him in confusion.

"You sleepwalked," Voldemort says and Harry gapes.

" _Liar_ ," he says, flustered, and Voldemort's eyes narrow. He looks irritated now.

"Why would I choose such an unconvincing lie?"

"I don't know!" Harry raises his voice, waving his wand in Voldemort's direction. "Why would I sleepwalk to _you_?"

Before Voldemort can answer, there's a knock on his door. Harry stiffens, glancing at the door before his gaze quickly flies back to Voldemort.

There's a curious look on Voldemort's face, and they simply stare at each other for a few long moments.

"I need to go," Harry blurts out, and Voldemort's hairless brows raise. Voldemort's eyes slide to his fireplace, and Harry takes note of the bowl of Floo powder on the mantle.

"I suppose you do," Voldemort says.

Harry inches closer to the fireplace, and strangely, Voldemort doesn't stop him. Barely able to believe his luck, Harry quickly grabs a handful of Floo powder and throws it into the fire.

He flees. The last thing he sees is Voldemort's intense, red eyes.

*

His office door opens and Voldemort looks up, a snarl ready for whoever dares to interrupt him and—

It's Harry Potter.

As like the first time last week, the boy's eyes are blank, his expression slack. There's none of that defiant fire that Voldemort had come to expect from him, and he seems muted, lifeless without it.

Voldemort does nothing, his quill frozen above the papers he had been looking over. He stays silent, curious as to what the sleeping boy will do.

Harry takes a step into his office.

"Close the door behind you," Voldemort says, annoyed, and surprisingly enough, the sleeping boy obeys. The door clicks shut, leaving the two of them alone in the quiet of his office. The only sound is the crackling of the fireplace to their side.

Harry walks towards him, his movements slow and deliberate. Almost like an Inferi. Voldemort wonders if he's under the Imperius, but he quickly discards the thought. Barty's reports had shown that Harry was willful and resistant against it, and Voldemort had seen it for himself in the graveyard.

Harry stops beside his seat, an expectant air around him, and Voldemort frowns. He pushes his chair back, about to stand and maybe bring the boy to his bed again, but the moment he does, Harry clambers into his lap.

Voldemort blinks.

He settles back into his seat, watching in disbelief as the boy makes himself comfortable, wiggling and squirming until finally, he rests, quiet and content. He tucks his head into Voldemort's shoulder, nose pressed to the column of Voldemort's throat, and curls his legs up, feet hanging off. Harry sighs happily.

He seems so small like this, so slight and delicate. It isn't true, he knows, he's seen enough of the boy's fight in the Graveyard and the memories from the Triwizard Cup. He had been fierce in the Department of Mysteries as well, almost impossibly so.

There's something oddly pleasant about having the boy pressed up so near him. It feels right, somehow. Meant to be. As if there was a viper writhing in search of something in his chest, and only now, it's found it and settled.

Voldemort shifts, adjust them both until one arm is wrapped around Harry's back.

He gets back to work.

*

"I'm going crazy," Harry says, grabbing Hermione and pulling her toward him. His eyes are wide, manic, and he feels distinctly unhinged. He hasn't slept since he had woken up curled in Voldemort's _lap_ of all places, unwilling to risk another sleepwalking incident. It's been two days.

"I need—potions," he blurts out, squeezing her hands tight.

"Harry," Hermione says, eyes darting back and forth over his features. "Are you…alright?"

"No," Harry hisses. "I need a—a potion that will keep me awake!"

"Are you having nightmares again?"

"Well, no, but…" he trails off. It isn't that bad, in all honesty. Voldemort always lets him go for some reason, and the two nights he had spent in Voldemort's company, he had woken up far more rested than he normally did.

Harry wouldn't even mind if it wasn't, you know, the _Dark Lord._

"I just need to stay awake, I can't fall asleep." He sounds desperate, he knows, and he is. He doesn't understand why he keeps sleepwalking to Voldemort and how he manages to slip through Hogwarts' wards.

He understands even less why Voldemort is actually putting up with him instead of killing him outright.

*

Voldemort is no longer surprised to find the boy waiting for him in his bedroom, sitting down on his bed. He's checked the wards, and they're as he left them, still keyed to his magic and blood. He understands how Harry can get through, somewhat, because the boy's blood runs through Voldemort's veins as well, but that doesn't explain how he's managed to trick the rest of his wards.

What is surprising though, is the fact that Nagini is draped over Harry's shoulders, as if he's merely her favorite, heated rock. The boy is relaxed, asleep as he is, and there's no aggression at all in Nagini's lazy coil.

"Masssster," Nagini hisses in greeting, lifting her head from where it's resting on the boy's shoulder. "Tassstes like you."

Voldemort frowns. "Don't eat him," he chides. Nagini, petulant brat that she is, flicks out her tongue over Harry's cheek.

" _Nagini_."

If snakes possessed the ability to whine, Voldemort is sure he'd have to suffer through it.

He looks up at the ceiling in despair and approaches the two of them. He eyes the boy, and Harry looks up at him, blinking slowly, green eyes blank.

"Has he been here long?" Voldemort asks Nagini idly, reaching out to cup his enemy's face. His hand looks paler against Harry's skin, and Voldemort can't resist from digging his fingertips into the boy's cheek. Harry doesn't even flinch.

"No." It's the boy who answers, and Voldemort freezes.

But no, Harry is asleep still, his eyelids at half-mast. Still, Voldemort can't relax. He had spoken in Parseltongue and…

"He's a Ssssspeaker," Nagini points out for him and Voldemort restrains his sigh. He lets go of Harry's face, stroking a finger down Nagini's head.

"I noticed," he murmurs. He gazes down at Harry Potter thoughtfully. "How curious."

*

Harry wakes in a too comfortable bed, a heavy weight on top of him, and his eyes fly open. He rushes to sit up, scrambling, but the weight restricts him. Still half-asleep, he just barely registers the feeling of something smooth and dry wrapped around him.

He freezes. He looks down.

Nagini hisses at him.

Harry gulps. He lifts his head and catches Voldemort sitting in the high back, plush chair across from the bed, a thick, intimidating tome in his lap. Voldemort simply raises an eyebrow when Harry stares at him.

"Why does this keep happening to me?" Harry demands. Whines, really. The Wideye Potion was supposed to keep him awake, and Harry had been red-eyed and jittery the past week because of it. And it hadn't even worked! "What did you do?"

"I've done nothing." Voldemort sniffs in offense. He goes back to his tome, ignoring Harry, and Harry gapes at him. "Go back to sleep, Potter. Your eyebags are atrocious."

Harry feels his face heat. Yeah, well, that's what _happens_ when he hasn't slept in a god damned week. Petulant, he flops back into Voldemort's sinfully soft sheets and settles back down. Nagini simply adjusts, coiling up around his body.

It should feel threatening, this great, heavy snake wrapped around him. It doesn't.

The moment he closes his eyes, he's out once more.

*

"There's been…rumors going around." Snape talks as if the words have a nasty taste, his expression scrunched.

"There's a boy," Snape continues, his eyes sliding to Harry, and Harry stiffens. Oh no. "Matching Potter's description. The other Death Eaters have seen him in the presence of the Dark Lord at night."

"What?" Remus frowns. "For what reason?"

"They say he warms the Dark Lord's bed."

Harry's jaw drops. What?! He does _not!_

"Wait, are you saying that…that You Know Who is shagging a Harry look-alike?"

They turn to face Harry and Harry adopts an expression that's hopefully outraged and shocked rather than flustered in embarrassment. They're not even shagging! Harry's just— _sleeping_. That's it!

"That's depraved," Molly says, shaking her head, and Harry immediately nods in furious agreement. It is! It's sick! Why anyone would even _want_ to shag Voldemort is beyond him.

.

.

.

.

Bollocks, Harry thinks later as he lies in bed and stares up at the ceiling.

Why would they even bring it up? Now he can't stop thinking about it.

*

Voldemort doesn't sleep often. It's a result of rituals, Horcrux and improvement ones combined.  Even as a boy though, he had needed little sleep to function. It had been helpful when he had been juggling Head Boy duties, the early days of his Knights, and his academics. That didn't even include his…extracurriculars.

Still. He is but a man, although a powerful man, and one who needs sleep.

He's still a light sleeper. When his bedroom door opens, it takes but mere seconds before Voldemort's eyes open and he's sitting up.

The light from the open door blocks the intruder, but the shadowed form is enough for Voldemort to relax, his tight grip loosening on his wand.

Harry Potter closes the door behind him and pads silently towards the bed.

"How do you keep getting past my wards?" Voldemort wonders out loud. It’s been bothering him since the first time, but after Harry showed himself a Parselmouth, it’s only gotten worse.

He did his research since then, bordering on obsessive. There’s no Slytherin blood in the boy at all, not from his paternal side, at least. His maternal side is useless to investigate with his Mudblood mother, and Voldemort doubts he'd find anything interesting there.

Harry doesn't answer his question, only stands, expectant and waiting by the side of Voldemort's bed. Voldemort has never laid with the boy, but he has no qualms about starting now. He lifts up the sheets.

Harry crawls into his bed, and Voldemort hums as he drapes himself over Voldemort's form. It reminds him of Nagini last time, how she had used the boy as her perch.

He adjusts them both and lies on his back. Harry's head is resting on his shoulder, his arm slung loosely around Voldemort's waist. His breath is warm as it fans over Voldemort's neck.

It’s nice.

Voldemort closes his eyes and goes to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> i am exarite on tumblr!!
> 
> idk what this is


End file.
